And I Will Love You More Than That
by Grimblade
Summary: Book 1 of an at least 3 book series. When a wind of destructive forces comes, destroying most of Gaia, the crew must split up and destroy the generators of the deadly wind. But it will lead to an adventure far beyond their imagination's wildest dreams....


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_Final Fantasy IX: Curtain Call : Book One - And I Will Love You More Than That_   
PROLOGUE: Dark Beginnings 

A dark wind howled through the night on the Gunitas Basin. It whistled shrilly, passing through the withering roots of the Iifa Tree that covered the entrance to the ice cavern. The wind's coldness increased as it passed through the eerie icicle-covered mini-maze. It passed through the place where the Black Waltz had first tried to impede Zidane and Dagger from ever making it to Lindblum Grand Castle, picking up speed. Finally, it crept into the Norlich Heights, and it clashed with light for the first time. The wind seemed to want to stop, cringing from the early morning light, but it didn't. It slowly crept across the plains, shrouding the battling wild monsters in a momentary darkness. Few had the foresight to look up, or they might have been able to stop the wind from enveloping the nearby village of Dali.

This wind was known as the wind of destruction, and it usually came about every other millenium. But since the world had been thrown offbalance by the gigantic fight between Necron and the heroes whose names are now well known, the wind was building in massive increments never before seen. And it would be a long time before the wind receded, for it takes a special type of emotion to surpress the wind. Either that, or the ultimate sacrifice: your life.. taken by your own hand.

A mother was trying to tuck her daughter into bed when the wind began to creep through town. Luckily for this mother, she lived on the other side of the village, and would not get the full blast of the deadly wind. But it would not nessicarily prove to be the best card in the deck shortly. "Mama! The other kids stole my doll!" The daugher sobbed hoarsely, for she had been outside yelling all day, playing with the other kids. The mother looked up to the roof, gazing unseeingly, and sighed. "Yes, honey. Now go to bed." the mother replied after a few seconds of silence from the daughter's racking sobs. The daughter showed her thanks and curled up into a tight ball, probably owing to the fact of the freezing temperature. A soft hiccup of a sob followed by a long yawn told the mother that the child was very tired. The mother smiled as she gently tugged the door shut.

Outside, a doll sat, propped up against a short pipe that let the little kids explore the underground caverns of Dali. A woman's hand reached down to get it, and the mother's voice spoke softly. "Where were you? Jacelyn was really missing you!" it said, jokingly. The mother clutched the tiny black-haired Garnet doll to her chest as she wheeled around on the spot, looking at the sights of Dali. There was the windmill, still sputtering, even after the Mist had disappeared. And there was the gardens which had once prospered, but were now withering away due to the gardenkeeper's passing away the previous month. Wheeling around again, she began walking towards her house. But then, it seemed, that time ran out on her - and all of the village of Dali's - life.

The wind, sensing energy nearby, quickly covered the village. The buildings began to fall apart, as if they were built with weak wood. The creak of wood just before it snapped soon formed a sonota of death for the citizens, and a low rumble of the windmill falling soon complimented this demented song. The mother gasped in horror as she saw the massive windmill fall to the ground just where she had been a split second ago. Shockwaves ripped through the ground as the roofs of the various houses and shops collapsed. The mother's eyes then rolled into the back of her head as she heard something in her neck snap. She fell to the ground, nearly dead. A thin trickle of blood formed a river of sorts from the corner of her mouth as the destruction continued. Under all of the rubble that was soon upon her, she did, finally, die. Her left hand was the last to be buried, and just before it was buried by a piece of wood from, ironically, the woman's house, the limp hand loosened its deathlike grip on the black-haired doll. The doll, being as light as a feather, glided away, soon flattening out against a rock that was undisturbed by the smells and goings-on of destruction. The wind of destruction ruffled the doll's hair and loose-fitting clothes as it passed, hungry for another target to destroy.


End file.
